


The Gilded Snake

by Lorde_Shadowz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blink And You Miss It Slash, Does it Count if Lockhart is Severus?, Grey but not Bad Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts Second Year, Horcrux Hunting, House Elves, Humor, M/M, Peter Pettigrew Bashing, Room of Requirement, Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem, Severus Comes from a Slightly Different Future from Canon, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:28:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25904344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorde_Shadowz/pseuds/Lorde_Shadowz
Summary: The war is over, at great cost, and Severus Snape goes back to change things. If only it were that simple...
Relationships: Severus Snape/Bill Weasley, Usual Canon Pairings
Comments: 20
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

Severus Snape carefully laid his stirring rod beside the cauldron he had been tending. "Do you need more Temporis Emulsion?"

"No." Bill Weasley leaned back against the wall of the warehouse, swiping a little sweat from his forehead A few dull greenish-brown droplets of Temporis Emulsion dripped off his brush and onto his dragonhide cursebreaker's robes, until he absentmindedly set the implement down. "No, I'm finished. It's up to you now."

Severus wordlessly stripped to the waist, revealing thousands of runes painstakingly hand painted over his whole body, and laid his dark silk robes and boots atop a couple of crates. Then, he picked his way to the center of the concentric runic circles drawn on the concrete, until he reached the center. A flick of his wrist brought his wand into his hand; then he knelt. "The athame?"

Bill fumbled in his pouch a few anxious moments before bringing out the charmed blade, wrapped in emerald silk. He unwrapped it. Then, unsure if he could get it to Severus without disturbing the runic sequence, he muttered a few words and the blade rose above his hands, drifted by sheer willpower over to his companion. Severus caught it.

A moment of silence, and then Severus closed his eyes. "Isis give me strength." But it was not Isis that he thought of. It was his students, under Voldemort's control, it was the muggleborns, shut in concentration camps, it was the Order, his companions in arms, rotting in unmarked graves. He even thought of Lupin. He was surprised by the strength of his righteous fury. But there was no time now to deliberate.

"Hurry!" Bill hissed. "If they find us..." He didn't finish. He didn't need to. The sizzle of blasting curses against the warehouse door was already audible, and once the doors broke down, they were lost. There would be no second chance to finish the ritual- Voldemort was not kind to traitors, and Bill was already suspected, as he had been in the vigilante group which had opposed him since the first war. He had only been offered the chance to change sides because his skills as a cursebreaker were valuable...somehow, there was a very high turnover for cursebreakers in Voldemort's employ.

Severus sucked in a deep breath. This was it then. "Goodbye Bill," he murmured, in a fit of unusual sentimentality. "If this fails- if I die- keep on fighting."

Bill nodded, the motion causing the dim light to glint off his dragontooth earring. Severus somehow couldn't look him in the face. "Goodbye Severus. Give 'em Hell."

Severus jerked his head in the semblance of a nod, quickly turning away to begin the ritual. To hide the shimmer of liquid in his eyes. Slowly he raised the athame, the hieroglyphics carved into it glowing ever so faintly as he began the chant. "Cura vulnus temporis! Cura vulnus temporis! Cura vulnus temporis!" On the third repetition, he brought the knife down on his bare and unprotected wrist, letting blood splash onto the runes, which started to gleam a dull crimson. The runes painted on his body took on a similar glow within moments.

"Fatum non est quid facimur, facimus! Fatum est quid facimus!" Severus was beginning to pant, both with the pain and with the tension. The pounding on the door had reached a fever pitch, and they could hear the shouting of the Death Eaters and the scuffling of feet. Protection runes scratched or painted on the corrugated metal door were starting to wink out, one by one, like fireflies at dawn.

The glow of the runes brightened and paled in color, crimson to orange to gold, illuminating Snape's thin face in the unearthly shine. Snape cast a quick glance at Bill, momentarily breaking his concentration, to see the Weasley smile one last time.

And then, as quickly, he refocused. "SHAH MÂT!" he roared, and the runes blazed white, and he couldn't think, couldn't breath, and the world had devolved into a mailström of white fire and white heat, and he was falling... And then- nothing.

Severus's eyes snapped open- had the ritual failed? For a moment, he couldn't see a thing. And then the halls of Hogwarts swam into view.

He had done it! Severus heaved a powerful sigh. Although he would never admit to it, it was wonderful being at Hogwarts again, even if he had to deal with flocks of little dunderheads blowing up cauldrons. The halls were so beautiful, especially when unburned, and Dumbledore...Dumbledore would be alive. Hell, so would Pomona. He even found himself missing Harry Bloody Potter. He must be getting soft.

But before Severus had had a chance to go further down that path, a woman passed him in the halls, and he had to choke down a gasp; there was nothing of the age, none of the marks that had so marred her in the future.

"Minerva!"

She blinked, surprise overtaking her features, together with not a little disdain. "Hello." Her voice did not sound pleased. "I trust you have been settling in well?"

Severus's spy instincts kicked in before he could ask her who the hell she thought he was. He settled for a simple "Yes."

"Well then don't you have duties?"

Severus nodded. He had to get to Dumbledore. Something was wrong.

"Then good day, Mr. Lockhart." She finished, turning away.

Lockhart? _Lockhart_?! Severus caught himself against the wall, dizzy with shock. He was inhabiting that gilded fop?! This had to be a nightmare. It just had to be!

And then something else occurred to him, something that sent shivers of elation and terror through every nerve in his body. Checking to see if anyone was around to see, he backed into a hidden alcove. With sudden hope, mingled with panic, he roughly tore back his left sleeve. His skin was totally unblemished. A mistake- it had to be a mistake!

But even before he entered the lavatory to look at a mirror, pushing his way past a startled Flitwick, he knew it was the truth. It wasn't just the way the other faculty reacted to him, (ranging widely from disgust to admiration, or in Dumbledore's case, the perennial twinkle). His very body moved differently.

There was none of the post-cruciatus stiffness and trembling that had so defined his later life, but none of the strength, either; there was a softness about Lockhart's body that made him wonder how the old fraud was attractive to so many witches. It was rather nauseating how about half of the female staff was acting around him.

Snape hesitated after he had entered the bathrooms, but at length walked over to the charmed mirror, which sighed admiringly. He promptly was sick. Blond, rakish curls. Eyes bluer than the pennants on Ravenclaw tower. A smile so bright and sparkling that it could probably cause temporary blindness. He had displaced the most self-centered excuse for a teacher to ever darken Hogwart's halls. Lockhart. He was Lockhart. That self-absorbed prat!

If he hadn't already seen his new face, the unlikely event of Pomona trying to seduce him like a love-sick second year as soon as he left the bathroom was enough to convince him.

He was getting well and truly drunk tonight.

Lockhart's quarters were done up in surprisingly restful shades of blue and lavender, and everything was neat and in its place, except a mess of parchment and notecards on one of the side tables, where Lockhart had evidently been working on a book called Wednesdays With the Wendigos. The liquor cabinet, too, was well stocked, and the landscape scenes on the walls were all pastoral, tasteful scenes in delicate shades.

The same could not be said of the wardrobe. Severus had wanted to change his robes (he didn't care _whose_ body he was in, nothing would ever prevail upon him to wear such an absurd shade of orange) but upon opening the closet, he had discovered that almost all of the other robes (and there were more than he had ever even seen together in one place at any given time, up to and including Lucius Malfoy's wardrobe) were as bad if not worse than the one he was wearing. He finally picked a somewhat dignified burgundy robe- he would have chosen the black dress robes, but something told him that Lockhart would not be caught dead in black, and it was best not to advertise that he was an imposter, given that he was likely to be stuck like this for the foreseeable future.

So by the time a Hogwarts elf had popped into his chambers saying that "Professor Gildy sir" was wanted in the Great Hall for the Opening Feast, he was wearing the stylish but mostly reasonable burgundy robe, several rings on his fingers, (he was _strictly_ wearing them to stay in character, and not because he liked the workmanship or anything) and a plastered-on smile. Luckily, he only had to wear them until the end of dinner.

It proved harder than he had thought. What with Pomona flirting blatantly with him, Minnie Mcgonagall fixing him with a scrutinizing glare from across the table with her grey eyes, Trelawny predicting his imminent demise, and the students jabbering at a volume to break the sound barrier, Severus was quite ready to leave the Hall and take all his dinners in the kichens. Not to mention that it was extremely disconcerting to have to look at a younger version of himself scowling across the table. But while had Severus had been in his own body, he could have stalked out scowling, Lockhart was supposed to be a social butterfly, chatty and egotistical, and the sneer which would have looked in place on Severus's thin, unlovely former face did not at all fit Lockhart's handsome, rounded features.

Thus Severus chattered nonstop all evening, drawing anecdotes and adventures from Lockhart's books and his own experiences of his old life, and inwardly sneering at himself for foisting such inanities on the population at large. But if Severus was anything, he was a good actor, and he knew he had to stay in character. And, (as he remembered from many, _many_ staff meetings in his past life) there was nothing Lockhart liked to do more than talk about himself.

They were about halfway through the meal when Trelawny stiffened, her fork slipping from between nerveless fingers, in the middle of saying something to Pomona about the inner eye. Her entire body was shaking.

"Trelawny?" Mcgonagall began.

Trelawny shuddered. Then, in a rough, deep, unnatural voice Severus had heard only once before, she began to speak. " _Time is twisted on itself._ _The phœnix and the basilisk shall lock in combat, and seven keepsakes prove the key, the gilded serpent picks his side, and whomsoever he picks shall win. And then shall secrets kept be secrets lost; to share the future to defray our fate."_

Severus was shaking with nerves. He knew that there were times when Trelawny was correct in her predictions, and this was one of them. Both students and staff were discussing the prophecy in hushed voices, speculating, wondering...but Severus had no need to wonder. What could "the gilded serpent" and "time is twisted on itself" refer to, but to him?

He really needed a drink. Or four.

Hours later, in Lockhart's quarters, Severus was relaxing with the help of a bottle of firewhiskey, as he worked through the prophecy and his plans in general.

First things first: the prophecy. Severus did not pretend to have any divination skills, or many interpretive ones. Time being twisted could probably safely be interpreted as his time traveling, but the phœnix and the basilisk...Severus didn't know. It could mean Fawkes helping Harry to fight the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, but something told Severus that it was probably not meant literally. Seven keepsakes could mean anything, and what on earth did the bit about the gilded serpent picking a side mean? And did "secrets kept are secrets lost" mean he should tell someone the truth? But who? Little did he know that soon the matter would be taken out of his hands.

Severus took a drink of firewhiskey. There was also the matter of the horcruxes. They had to be destroyed. That was what had gone wrong in the last timeline- Dumbledore had kept his secrets close to his chest, up until that final, fateful day on the astronomy tower- Severus cringed at the part he had played, at the emerald light shooting from his wand, at Dumbledore, falling, majestic in death, and took another long gulp of firewhiskey.

What had he been thinking about? Oh, the horcruxes. He sighed. He had only been told that there were more than one, and that there had been a diary, Ravenclaw's diadem, a ring, and Harry Potter's scar, as well as more that Dumbledore had not told him about, in case Voldemort got it out of him.

He had figured out through eavesdropping and guesswork that the ring resided in the Gaunt shack. He'd overheard Potter discussing another, hidden in Gringotts, but hadn't had a chance to find out what it was. He'd only, in fact, known of Ravenclaw's diadem because it was apparently the only one St. Potter couldn't find, and that had been his undoing- when he had come back to life after the duel with Voldemort, the Dark Lord simply killed him again. And this died the hope of the Wizarding world. Severus vowed it would not happen that way again.

The next thing he had to do was come up with a viable lesson plan. He was _not_ using Lockhart's, which involved acting out scenes from his books, and if his memory served correctly, letting Cornish pixies loose in the classroom. Splendid. He had one night to come up with a lesson plan for each class for an entire year. He gulped more firewhiskey and got to work.


	2. Chapter 2

Severus awoke slowly, and with a horrible hangover. For a few moments, he didn't know where he was; the bed was much softer than he had been accustomed to, and the light never streamed into his flat from this direction. He raised himself on one elbow, blinking like a cat in the too-bright light. And then, abruptly, everything came rushing back to him, and he groaned into his pillow. It was going to be a very long decade.

However, now was no time to have a lie-in. He had classes in- Merlin- he had classes in ten minutes. Severus muttered several things that cannot be printed and got up, found a forest green robe in Gilderoy's wardrobe, cleaned himself up and cast a few cosmetic charms so he wouldn't look as if he had just crawled out of bed, and grabbed his books and papers, reaching the door just in time to hear the knock. Oh, splendid. Severus cast a quick charm to get rid of the light, lingering scent of firewhiskey, and pulled open the door.

"Mr Lockhart?"

Oh, still more splendid. Why did Dumbledore have to come _now_ , of all times? Severus let out a very slow sigh through his nose and plastered on a blindingly bright smile. "Yes Headmaster?"

"As you were not at breakfast, I thought you had not received a schedule." Dumbledore twinkled at him merrily, but at the same moment Severus felt a very light occlumency probe, something which the original Lockhart would not even have noticed. Severus smirked internally. _Not going to happen, Albus,_ he thought, equally lightly deferring the probe by gently directing it to a few fabricated memories of casting a peacock patronus at a coven of wendigos.

"Oh, I'm afraid I stayed up a little late writing," he replied vacuously. "Working on a new book, you know. Besides, I had to make last-minute changes to my lesson plans."

"Oh?" Dumbledore looked like he had not been expecting this. "I presume you reviewed them with the Board?"

"Oh, I trust that the Board will have no problems," Severus Lockhart replied coolly, wincing internally at what he was about to say. "I _am_ , after all, Gilderoy Lockhart. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go to class- I'd hate to leave the first-year Gryffindors and Slytherins alone for any length of time." And without waiting for a response, he swept purposefully down the hall, emerald silk rustling.

He didn't see Dumbledore's thoughtful glance.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was not more than a hundred years old- and vastly successful- for nothing. He had seen Dark Lords rise and Dark Lords defeated, he had seen Ancient and Noble Houses rise out of obscurity and vanish into it again, he had seen the Lightest and Darkest magics, had held two of the three sacred Hallows in his hands, and even witnessed the birth of a new continent. He was, however, not without his flaws, nor was he all-knowing. But there was something not quite right about Gilderoy Lockhart.

Dumbledore had, in fact, been the one to interview Gilderoy for the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts, and at the time, he'd been extremely disappointed. He actually wouldn't have hired him, after seeing what a pompous, incompetent, self-aggrandizing fraud the man was, but the only others who had applied had been Lucius Malfoy and Alecto Carrow, and a fraud was better than a cutthroat aristocrat or a specialist in "interrogation assistance".

As much as Dumbledore wanted to teach DADA himself, he had a few too many positions to spare, not to mention the other offices he had to sit on or cover with red tape to keep the Dark faction from gaining the upper hand. He was simply stretched too thin, and so he'd had to concede this point; He also had thought that perhaps he could use this to his advantage, to reveal Lockhart as the fraud he was.

Simply put, Dumbledore had been resigned to have to deal with the man for just a year (after all, the curse prevented any teacher in the DADA position from staying on) just until he could convince his friend Moody to come out of retirement. He'd known what he was getting, and he'd come to terms with it.

Only, Lockhart was not what he'd expected. There was a subtle quality about him that hasn't been there before, and his aura was tangibly much stronger, although Dumbledore could not actually see it. Oh, how he wished for aura sight right now!

Not only that, but he seemed to have learned occlumency in a month; where before, his shallow mind had been an open (and sordid) book, now he had seemed to have mastered it to the point of directing Dumbledore to _fabricated_ memories, rather than even just blocking him out. Memories so well fabricated, that had Dumbledore not known that Lockhart couldn't cast a patronus to save his life, literally, he would have been deceived.

Lockhart also had slightly different reactions from the ones that the headmaster had noticed: he reached impulsivity for his wand at loud noises, and his crystal blue eyes seemed to catalog everything he perceived, and file it away for further reflection. Prudent and perceptive comments were slipped in between mindless prattle, and Dumbledore was not oblivious to the looks that Lockhart shot at many of the students and staff, the looks of pure joy that they were alive.

As a matter of fact, had Lockhart's aura been Dark, he would automatically have assumed possession; after all, he'd employed possessed teachers before, to his eternal shame. At least, he would have assumed possession if Lockhart had shown even the slightest hint of malevolence. And yet there was nothing else that could have explained the changes!

Simply put, Lockhart wasn't what Dumbledore had pegged him to be, and the old man was beginning to grow worried. Dumbledore didn't like riddles. Especially after what had become of the last Riddle.

* * *

By the time he reached his classroom, the hangover headache was almost gone, and his admittedly dubious temper had sweetened quite a bit.

"Lockhart" swept into the DADA classroom amid the bubbly chatter of his second years, his emerald robes rustling, and a genuine smile on his lips. After all, he was going to be teaching his favorite subject, and despite his normal cynicism, he _did_ occasionally tolerate children. In reasonable numbers... Besides, he was simply grateful they were alive. He had seen their bodies, all of them- he had even seen some of them killed. Draco Malfoy, killed by his own father for refusing to defile a child. Hermione Granger, killed in the concentration camps, her boyfriend Ron fighting by her side all the way. Harry Bloody Potter, struck down by the Dark Lord himself..."Lockhart" shook himself out of the dismal thoughts and waited for his students to settle down. They didn't.

The toothy smile was starting to abate a little as the pounding of his temples increased; he longed for the days when a stern stare or a menacing sneer was enough to silence his students. The "Dungeon Bat" could have shut the giggling fangirls in an instant's time. However somehow he didn't think the headmaster would be enjoy any more suspicious behaviour, and he couldn't afford that. Then a devious smirk flickered across Lockhart's full lips, and he flicked his wand in a broad sweeping swath. No one could hear his mutter of " _silencio_ ", but the spell didn't exactly have to be audible.

Total silence fell, and "Lockhart" grinned at the bemused faces of his students as their mouths opened and shut, fish-like. That is until they realized what had happened.

" _Finite_ _incantatem_ ," "Lockhart" said calmly, lips still twitching. Gods, seeing the looks on their faces was almost as much fun as taking points from Gryffindor! Wait, was he actually in a mischievous mood? The smile disappeared. Damn, was Gilderoy's essence muddling his mind? "Lockhart" belatedly realized he was supposed to be teaching a class and sighed, then turned his attention to his still petrified students.

"Welcome to Defence Against the Dark Arts, year two. That ought to be your first lesson: situational awareness. Had I been, say, a Death Eater, or a blast-ended skrewt, you would be dead instead of silenced."

A hand shot into the air.

"Lockhart" blinked, trying to put a name to the second-year Gryffindor's face. Finally, he got it. "Yes Miss Brown?"

"You're our teacher!" she cried, wide-eyed. "I assumed you wouldn't attack us!"

_Oh Merlin help us,_ "Lockhart" thought, trying not to snap. Even with his newfound tolerance, there was only so much blatant idiocy he could swallow. Unfortunately, she'd probably never been taught, so he couldn't just blow up on her. Plus, the original Gilderoy Lockhart was so affable he probably couldn't blow up even if he was transfigured into a bomb. " _Anyone_ might attack you, Miss Brown; even the most upstanding of citizens can be traitors. _Never_ let anyone you don't know or don't implicitly trust point a wand at you for any reason, and yes, that includes teachers as well. Simply because I am a celebrity does not mean I am to be trusted until I _prove_ that trust, however 'hot' I might be or however many glorified travel guides I have written. Besides, considering that the previous DADA teacher was possessed, I don't believe there is an astounding track record for trustworthy teachers. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir," replied Miss Brown, close to tears. "Lockhart" closed his eyes momentarily to get himself back on track. When he opened them, several more hands were up. Damn. He was never going to get to his actual prepared speech, was he.

"Yes Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco looked a bit sheepish. "What's a blast-ended skrewt?"

Out of all the questions the boy could have asked... "Lockhart" sighed, wondering how many vials of headache-reliever he was going to need. "It's an experimental cross between a scorpion and a fire crab with a stinger on either end and an uncertain temperament. Miss Patil?"

"What do you mean Quirrell was possessed? I mean, I know he was a horrible teacher, but possessed?"

"You'd have to ask the headmaster for details. I myself didn't see the man after his sabbatical in Albania, although frankly, from what I knew of him before, I would have thought him too stupid to be worth possessing."

The class was staring at him.

"As I was saying," "Lockhart" began again, trying to recover his spiel, "welcome to Defence Against the Dark Arts, year two. No matter what you have to face in life, from an auror training regime to a dark wizard, or a dark creature, you will need to know this branch of magic. It is one of the most gratifying, even, dare I say, _fun_ types of magic, but it is also, I'm afraid, one of the most complex, and it will be necessary for you to work hard this year.

"Defence Against the Dark Arts is not an easy discipline to learn for two reasons: one is that all the book learning in the world is not enough when confronted with an adversary. You have to drill, drill until your arms ache and your core is exhausted, drill until you dream of drilling, until you can duck under a curse through pure reflex. The second reason is that the subject is much broader than most of your other classes here at Hogwarts. Astronomy is only ever the study of the stars and how they relate to magic, but 'Defense Against the Dark Arts' is a compound discipline. It incorporates Potions-" He picked up a bottle he had prepared, and uncorked it, spilling liquid flames onto his desk. It would have been much more impressive if it had actually burned without heat, like it had been intended to, but even a potion master could not brew perfect _ignis aqua_ on a hot plate with filched ingredients, particularly if said Potions Master was rather tipsy. He considered the glow in his students' eyes a win and put out the smoldering desk.

"Charms-" he continued, drawing his wand and closing his eyes. It takes a great deal of energy to force one's patronus to assume an alternate shape, but a doe- or a dragon patronus would raise eyebrows, and those were the only two forms his patronus had ever taken. He concentrated on Bill Weasley's uproarious laugh as he told an anecdote about an Egyptian amulet with a few layers of obscene curses, and remembered Lily's gentle smile and the sun in her hair. And a peacock patronus emerged. His students were too awed by the magic to giggle about it being a peacock, if they even knew what it was.

"Transfiguration-" with a single swipe of his wand, he transfigured the first thing that came to mind- a flower pot on his desk- into a tiger, which roared and paced the desk for a few seconds before jumping off of it, turning back into a flower pot mid leap, as "Lockhart" didn't want his students to be hurt. The only problem was that the wizard, who was used to his own powerful core rather than Gilderoy's comparatively weak one, was quite exhausted by the magical strain, and let the pot fall rather than catching it with a quick spell. It instantly shattered into terra cotta shards, potting soil, and the roots and leaves of a rather resilient little plant. "Lockhart" blinked dizzily.

"And Herbology, among other things. Nearly anything can be used in combat, either in attack or in defense, and so you will have know how to defend against anything, or at least figure out how to avoid attacks which you cannot withstand. You will hopefully know how to do this by the end of your seven years here at Hogwarts."

Several hands were up, and as "Lockhart" was feeling rather drained, he stopped and took a breath, and then decided to answer the questions. "Yes Mr. Thomas?"

"What do you mean 'nearly anything can be used in combat'?"

"Do you honestly believe only dark magic can harm you? What if I were to cast _lumos maximus_ in your face? Or cast a _aguamenti_ down your throat? If I were to summon silver silverware and throw it at a werewolf's head, he or she would not be having a particularly nice day, and tanning charms work miracles on vampires. And _Wingardium leviosa_ can be used to levitate something heavy and sharp and drop it on someone's head, or lift you out a window or off a roof."

Several of the students looked sick. "Lockhart" noticed with a faint flicker of approval that Granger had written all of what he said down, and now had her hand up. Hoping that she had something actually relevant to say, he called on her.

"Yes Miss Granger?"

"Can that work the opposite way too? Like, can a dark cutting curse be used in surgery or something?"

"Lockhart" blinked. As always, her observation was spot on- why had he never noticed that before? _Because all I could see was that she was a little Gryffindor know-it-all who was friends with Potter,_ whispered a little voice that he had so often hated. "Yes, of course," he said at last. "In fact, dark curses nearly always have dark counters, and curses that are now considered dark are often derived from benign cooking and gardening curses, or have applications in cooking, like the entrail-expelling curse. Not only that, but most healing spells are dark in any other use.

"Even Unforgivables could be used in helpful ways, if the ministry allowed it. _Avada Kedavra_ was originally developed for euthanasia and butchering purposes, never for war; the ancients tended to use spells specifically _for_ war, as a matter of fact, and those spells were painful and torturous on purpose. _Imperious_ was once used by mind healers for prevention of suicide, and the _crucitus_ had a potential application similar to muggle shock therapy, although it is very fortunate indeed that that is now illegal. Thank you for that question; ten points to Gryffindor."

It was probably the first time he'd ever voluntarily given points to Gryffindor, and it was marginally less painful than swallowing broken glass. But the part of him that was going soft warmed at the dazzling smile on the girl's face.

Ron Weasley, surprisingly, had his hand up now. "Lockhart" had to resist the urge to sigh; Hell would probably be experiencing a cold front before that red-headed goof came up with a relevant question. "Yes Mr. Weasley?" He asked finally.

"Is that also true of dark creatures? Like, are they always dark, or..."

"Lockhart" was startled. "Good question! Ten points to Gryffindor." An internal wince, then "Lockhart" continued: "Occasionally dark means dark and light means light, like a basilisk or a acromantula is always dark, and a pegasus or a phœnix is always light. However, a lot of creatures are borderline, like sphinxes and feathered serpents, and some creatures generally considered light with a capital "L" can have dark subspecies, like unicorns. Also, simply because a creature is dark does not mean they are evil; vampires can be friendly at times, and...werewolves...are not evil, only diseased. Unless they are deliberately malicious pieces of refuse such as Greyback." Merlin, that last part really hurt to say. But considering that Lupin had taken a cutting curse to the chest for him in the last timeline, he rather owed it to him.

* * *

"Traitor!"

Severus winced as he faced his former colleague; the Battle of Hogwarts had been lost, and with Potter dead, very few still had the energy to fight on. Surprisingly, it was Sprout, gentle, motherly, sweet Sprout who had been the last to fight back, the last to persevere, even as the others went down fighting or threw down their wands and watched them be snapped. But Pomona Sprout fought on, fought with all her strength. Severus had the distinct impression that Voldemort was letting her, so that he could sit back and watch the show.

Spellfire flew between them as they dueled, curses blazing, although Severus made sure not to cast anything too nasty or to aim anything at her face, throat, or lower body.

"Traitor!" Sprout called again, flinging a ferocious incendio at him. "Dumbledore _trusted_ you!"

Severus swallowed the bile that rose in his throat at the memory of killing his old mentor, at the implied " _I trusted you!_ " He raised his wand, but he wasn't fast enough, and his own spell, the _sectumsempra_ , the one _he_ had taught _her_ in years past, when a defense teacher from days gone by had tried to make a move on her, came flying at his chest.

And a figure crumpled at his feet, blood gushing from three great gashes in his chest and neck. It was the only one he'd ever told of his true loyalties, barring Potter. Lupin. Severus was so shocked that he forgot to fight, that he didn't even notice Sprout being restrained by Lothrop Parkinson, or that several students were trying to break away from their captors. He simply stared at the man's face.

"Lupin?" With quick fingers he ripped open the man's shirt, his ebony wand flickering like a butterfly over the bloody tears. " _Vulneratus salvatur. Vulneratus salvetur. Vulneratus salvetur._ " The wounds wouldn't heal; it had to be the werewolf blood. "Lupin, what the Hell did you think you were doing?!" He burst out at last.

"Proving...to you...that werewolves...are...not...all...evil..." He coughed, spitting up clots of blood. "Tonks...dead...so's Teddy... It's over...Pack...heaven." And then he was gone.

* * *

"Lockhart" shook his head, as if to clear his head of the turbulent memories. Now several of his students had their hands up, he realized with a start. His affable mood was utterly shot with memories, but he pasted a titanium white smile on his face and went on. "Yes Mr. Nott?"

"What do you mean unicorns can be evil? I thought they were totally light creatures."

"There are varieties that use their horns as a weapon. It's very effective, too. And do you think the whole obsession with virgins is a _light_ attribute?"

Theodore Nott was spluttering too hard to answer that one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explanation of Canon Divergence: This story diverges from canon in the Battle of Hogwarts in the previous timeline. Harry didn't know about the diadem, so this the golden trio was in the battle from the beginning. Hermione, Harry, Minerva, and Narcissa, among others, die in the first wave, until the Shrieking Shack incident. Only Voldemort knew that Draco had the Elder wand because of a comment Hermione had made, so he let Snape go to Harry. Snape uses the opportunity to tell him everything, and Harry goes to his death. Unfortunately, because he hadn't gotten the diadem, Voldie just kills him again, and it's over. The only ones on the Light side who survive are a few turncoats, like Slughorn and Zacharias Smith, and Bill Weasley, who misses the battle because he's off doing cursebreaking, and had to pretend to join the DE's to live. After finally convincing Snape he's actually still on the Light side, he ropes him into a plan to hopefully change everything. You saw how well _that_ worked.


	3. Chapter 3

'Lockhart' found himself actually settling in by the time the first staff meeting of the year rolled around. Of course, his already thin patience was rubbing raw and scabbing by that point, but he had long learned how to keep up a mask long after he felt it, and it helped that he had long developed methods of relieving stress.

Even if he no longer had access to a potions lab, (which he _definitely_ wasn't happy about) putting silencing charms up and screaming was still available to him, as was taking long walks after hours under the pretense of patrolling. Although he kept having to remind himself that 'Gilderoy Lockhart' would be more likely to wink and teach lovebirds contraception charms rather than drag them out of their cosy little broom closets by the scruffs of their necks.

All the same, 'Lockhart' most assuredly did _not_ want to have to take tea with the other professors on the particular evening set for that particular meeting; he had other things on his mind, like the defense exam he had to write and Voldemort's horcruxes and the possessed girl, and the bloody sixty-foot basilisk in a heavily warded chamber that he would somehow have to kill before the end of the year. And why in Hell did he have _four, separate_ _book contracts_!

In any case, 'Lockhart', being preoccupied with the events of the coming Halloween, had made the unpardonable sin of daydreaming during the staff meeting when Minerva Mcgonagall called him back to consciousness.

"So Gilderoy, what do you think about leading the dueling club?"

'Lockhart', tuning back in at "...dueling club", blinked for a moment, trying to remember what she had said. "What?" he asked at length, swallowing his dignity, "I'm afraid I did not hear all that?"

"I said what do you think about leading the dueling club, since Filius is not available," said Dumbledore calmly.

Minerva Mcgonagall pursed her lips. "Severus could lead it," she said. "I'm sure that as a new teacher, Lockhart is still acclimating to his job, and Severus has been wanting to teach a defense study group for a long time..."

'Lockhart' started, having not remembered that from the previous timeline. So Minerva trusted his old self more than Gilderoy?

"Severus can assist if he wishes," Dumbledore broke in in his usual condescending voice. "I believe he has his own...extracurricular activities."

_Translation: Minerva Mcgonagall still thinks I'm an upstart and Dumbledore wants...my former self to go back to spying,_ 'Lockhart' thought with a mental smirk. It was then that he realized that the rest of the staff was still looking at him, waiting for an answer.

"Of course I can lead it, if you want. Dueling with me will be such a good opportunity for the students!" 'Lockhart' replied, wincing internally at the act he was putting on. "Would you like me to set it up like a traditional dueling circuit or a new age tournament? When will it be? Do you want me to-"

"I think logistics can wait," Minerva said disapprovingly. "After all, we've only just brought up the idea."

"Of course, of course," 'Lockhart' replied, glad to be out of the spotlight for the moment. One of the things that grated the most was that his role as 'Lockhart' forced him into a role completely opposed to his true personality. Gilderoy's personality was almost worse than playing the loyal Death Eater simply put of sheer obnoxiousness!

"Is there any other business that needs to be addressed before we move on?" said Pomona, ever the mediator.

Flitwick nodded. "Yes," he squeaked. "Has it occurred to anyone how to discipline the students that want to join the dueling club? They'll probably be from all four houses, and the Gryffindors and Slytherins at the very least will probably consider this as a school sanctioned way to hex their rivals."

"And is there any reason why taking house points is not an option in this instance?" Snape snarked. 'Lockhart' felt his lips curving up in appreciation; house points should be fine to discipline the little monkeys.

"I thought that perhaps there should be more than one option. Breaking up fights is all well and good, but you have to keep them from doing it again, and some of them just don't care about house rivalries, like my 'Claws."

'Lockhart' blinked, having never looked at it that way before. "Detention with Filch or Severus should work," he replied calmly- Merlin it was odd talking about his younger self in third person!- "and there's always hospital bedpans if all else fails."

His former self smirked.

"Excellent, so that's settled," said Mcgonagall, just as 'Lockhart' was opening his mouth again. "Is there any other business, then?"

"I would like to make a complaint about your 'Claws, Filius," said Professor Vector. "Did you know that I found little Luna Lovegood wandering around with no shoes? And that her homework and essays always mysteriously go missing? The poor girl says that 'nargles' take her things, but I've seen how she flinches from some of the upper school girls. They call her 'Loony Lovegood'."

Flitwick flushed. "I'll have to take them to task. Although while we're on the topic of misdemeanors, Zacharias Smith has been very disruptive in my classes; I've taken points, but it would be wonderful if you would bring it up with him, Pomona."

"Speaking of misdemeanors, Marcus Flint needs to be taken to task for groping one of my 'Puffs, Severus," said Pomona Sprout in turn. "I wish you would rescind the points you took for her hexing him."

Snape's lips tightened. "Very well." He paused. "Also, if you can't control the Weasley twins, Minerva, I'll be forced to put them in detention until they graduate, if we're all going to be bringing up complaints. And if Potter and Longbottom blow up one more cauldron-"

"Severus," said Mcgonagall in a warning voice. 'Lockhart' had to force himself not to react.

"Keep in mind the boy was raised by muggles," 'Lockhart' broke in at last. "He probably hadn't seen a cauldron until Hagrid picked him up, and I doubt anyone thought to give him orientation materials."

Everyone stared at him, and 'Lockhart' realized uneasily that that had probably sounded too much like his old self. But the damage was done. It wasn't like he could just _obliviate_ them all.

But just then Dumbledore broke in to suggest a Halloween masquerade ball, which literally everyone but Sprout and Trelawny unanimously cut down, and it seemed as if everyone had forgotten it. For then. 'Lockhart' hoped he was imagining the heavy scrutiny that Dumbledore was giving him.


	4. Chapter 4

It was a house elf, of all things, that gave him the tip. He'd been researching day and night, in between teaching and getting everything ready for the dueling club, and had at last nearly given up on figuring out where in Hogwarts Voldemort had hidden the diadem horcrux. Summoning it, obviously, didn't work. Dark seeking spells didn't work. Even a Locator Serum swiped from a supremely annoyed Snape's storage cabinet (Severus did _not_ envy his next few classes) did not seem to do a thing. Severus had lost track of the obscure places he searched in, getting more and more angry at the vagueness of his clue. It could be anywhere! It could even be in the bloody Chamber of Secrets itself for all he knew.

It had been a particularly long day, and he had had to deal with the ruin of his scorched desk (after a seventh year class about the _incendio_ curse), thus missing lunch and getting splinters in his (well, Gilderoy's) soft white hands. If it wouldn't be dangerously out of character he would have shaken the little brats, or at least assigned them detention answering his fan mail (because _someone_ had to do it and it was _not_ going to be him if he could help it.)

As it was, he stalked to the kitchens with a hint of his old flair, a large (if strained) smile pasted on. Once there, he tickled the portrait of the pear with a barely discernible eye-roll and walked into the kitchen. Once there, he was nearly bowled over by a horde of house elves.

"Professor Gildy sir!" they chorused.

Severus resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose to combat his growing headache. "If one of you could fix me something to eat?"

The elves whipped up an impromptu banquet almost before the words had exited his mouth. "Here yous are, professor Gildy sir!"

Severus smiled tiredly and took the tray; memories of former days, when he and Lily would sneak down to the kitchen after curfew for midnight picnics to be eaten under the stars clouding bright blue eyes.

"Is anythings wrong, Professor Gildy sir?"

Severus turned to gaze at the elf who had spoken in surprise.

"I am looking for something," he said at last, on an impulse. "A coronet that someone hid in the castle, tainted with dark magic."

A little elf in a frilly starched apron cocked her head. "Have yous tried the Come and Go room?"she said finally.

"The what?" asked Severus, caught off guard.

"The Come and Go room, 'Fessor Gildy sir," she repeated. "Where everythings lost and hidden be. I's can takes you there..."

It was worth a try. "I...thank you. Could you take me?"

"Yes 'Fessor Gildy sir." Before Severus could say a word, the elf grabbed his hand. The air warped and twisted, and all at once there was a pop of displaced air and the two of them rematerialized in what Severus vaguely recognized as a corridor on the seventh floor. He couldn't help feeling that the sensation was much more pleasant than slide-along apparation.

"Yous walk up and down three times," the elf told him, emphasizing three with her slender fingers, "and think about whatever yous be wanting."

Severus blinked, then did as he was advised. And a polished wooden door appeared on his third pass.

The room beyond that door was absolutely _stuffed_ with objects. The contraband of a dozen generations shared the general area with out-of-commission furniture and general garbage, in a combination lost-and-found and rubbish heap.

Severus scowled, both at the enormous pile he had to look through and then then the mess, and then drew his wand (or, rather, Gilderoy's; he had found it abundantly clear that the only reason he himself could use it was by brutally forcing his magic through it- it was only marginally more useful than a stick. Even with his and Gilderoy's cores combined, wandless magic was exhausting, and his temper had stretched thinner in the past weeks with the multiple strains and headaches he had to deal with, although he did often attempt to console himself by reminding himself that he was at least not both a head of house and a spy anymore.) "Accio Ravenclaw's Diadem!"

Nothing moved in the mess that was called "The Room of Come and Go". Severus sighed. "It was worth a try," he commented at last, reaching to slide his wand back in its sheath. "Thank you."

He turned to go, but the bubbly female elf only tugged on his dangling hand. "'Fessor Gildy, sir, wizard magics not work here!"

"So I should just search by hand?" he asked, his headache worsening at the prospect. Slowly he entered the room, walking among the stacks. A fanged frisbee snapped feebly at his ankle as he walked by, and as he attempted to pick up a copy of a dark arts book that he really would have liked, it sprouted awkward crab legs and scurried away; evidently it had fallen victim in the recent past to an incomplete transfiguration.

"No p'fessor Gildy sir," called the elf before he could get further. "Elveses magic being working! What can Sparky be getting yous?"

"It's a silver crown with sapphires- Ravenclaw's diadem," he told her. "Can you find it?"

Sparky nodded. "Yes Professor Gildy sir," she said, closing her bulbous green eyes and appearing to concentrate. Then she snapped her fingers, and all at once the diadem materialized in thin air with a pop, and then clattered unceremoniously onto the tile. "Here professor Gildy sir," she told him. "Yous should touch with gloveses- nasty magic."

Severus conjured a pair of dragonhide gloves, and slowly picked up the piece of history, getting a good look at it. It was gorgeous, all silver and sapphire, with amethyst spelling out the old adage "Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure", nor was there even a mote of dust, despite how long it had probably been lost.

It would be a pity to destroy this beautiful artifact.

Severus frowned. What if there was a way he could cleanse it without destroying it? Speaking of, how _could_ he destroy it- the basilisk was still alive, and he was _not_ trying to get into the chamber of secrets to kill it like a bloody Gryffindor! And it went without saying that he could definitely not afford to buy any of said venom on a teacher's wage. That left fiendfyre, which he _could_ cast, but which was tracked by the ministry- and which he could _not_ cast with an uncooperative wand. Besides, casting _t_ _hat_ would raise some nasty questions.

And then it struck him, and if he had not had impeccable self control, he just might have face-palmed. He was in front of a room that allegedly could be whatever you needed at any particular moment- he just had to see if that were totally true.

He turned towards the wall where the door to the Rooms of Come and Go were located and paced back and forth three times, facing the wall. And a door appeared. Severus smirked and went through it.

Inside was a bare room made completely of stone, the walls, ceiling and floor etched with runes of purification and exorcism. In the very center of the aforementioned room was a large basin, filled with a softly glowing silver substance, which Severus recognized in awe was unicorn tears, a magical substance with the healing properties of phœnix tears and the cleansing properties of unicorn horn, very rare and expensive, but absolutely necessary for such a ritual. On the wall, on the only place that did not have any runes, was a plaque, detailing the steps necessary to cleanse such a Dark object as a horcrux.

Severus read it through three times, so that he would know what to do without stopping to consult the guide every step of the way, and then finally laid the diadem in the unicorn tears and began to chant:

" Znič toto zlo.Očisti jeho zoufalství."

The silvery substance shone brighter. Severus could feel the swirling, pure, light magic inundating his core, filling him with peace.

"Ať je opět neposkvrněné ve jménu tisíců Božích jmen!"

The light grew blinding, the magic thick and palpable in the air. Severus closed his eyes, enraptured by the light.

"Světlo vždy zvítězí," he managed finally, barely able to speak around the lump in his throat. It was so pure, so clean, so...loving. It was as if the magic itself was embracing him, bathing him in its splendor, protecting him. And then he sank backwards, stars exploding in his vision, and he was falling into nothingness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I used Google translate because I do not, actually speak Czech. If any of my readers do, could you make sure I got it right? Translation is as follows:
> 
> Znič toto zlo. Buďte čistí. Umyjte si zoufalství: Destroy this evil. Be clean. Wash [away] your despair.
> 
> Nechť je to ještě jednou čisté podle tisíců Božích jmen: Let it be clean again by the thousands of God's names.
> 
> Může vždy zvítězit světlo: Light can always prevail.
> 
> EDITED 5/9/20
> 
> Destroy this evil. - Znič toto zlo.  
> Be clean. - Očisti ho.  
> Wash away your despair. - Smyj jeho zoufalství.  
> Let it be clean again by the thousands of God's names. - Ať je opět neposkvrněné ve jménu tisíců Božích jmen.  
> Light can always prevail. - Světlo vždy zvítězí.
> 
> Thanks so much to Errolette from Ao3 and LunaSnape94 from fanfiction.net for editing this mess; you guys are indispensable!


	5. Chapter 5

Severus Snape had had a very long day. He'd just come from potions with the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw third year class, of all things, during which Longbottom melted a record of two cauldrons in one class. Then he'd had to miss lunch supervising the cleanup of said cauldron debris. He was thus very grateful for the free period he had scheduled. Of, course, part of it would have to be spent grading that last stack of written quizzes and getting ready for his next class, but the period was still long enough that he could indulge in...perhaps...a nap. At least that's what he'd thought. Until the patronus arrived.

He'd just finished with grading his last quiz when Dumbledore's silver phoenix burst into view, landing in a flare of white light. "Severus, Gilderoy is missing. I need you to take his four O'clock defense class..."

Severus fumed. That incompetent, self-important, egotistical blond prat just decides to disappear and _he_ has to take up the slack! That _imbecile_ would be hexed the _minute_ he gets back, colleague or not. He stormed through the halls to the defense classroom, pushing through the students milling around the door like chickens in a hen-yard. It brought him less satisfaction than usual that some of the Hufflepuffs looked like they were going to cry- he was too angry for that.

He started lecturing at once, and it was a lecture that at any other time he would have vastly enjoyed; it was a lesson which he had always wanted to teach. But the idea that he only had the opportunity because that blond prat was slacking on his duties, rather than through any effort of his own...did not sit well.

**"The Dark Arts are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible..."** he began, a small part of him (the part that was going soft) warming at the awe in some of the Ravenclaws' eyes. He went on, growing slowly more animated as the lecture went on- this was his subject, the subject that he shone in. While he was a perfect Potions Master, he would be the first to admit that he was not the right wizard to attempt to instill knowledge of the fine art of potion-making in the little dunderheads. DADA, however...he had more of a talent for teaching.

All in all, the class was better than he had expected (although certainly not as good as actually having his free period). He was almost finished with his class when all at once he began to feel peculiarly light-headed. "The most important technique for combating dark compulsion spells..." The world was fading in and out. Severus made a conscious effort to focus. "Some, like the imperious, must be mentally resisted by the wizard they were cast on, while others..."

His left arm was aching. Severus felt a sudden chill of fear that would have cleared his head had it not been growing fogged with pain and dizziness.

"Directly countered by a specific tailored spell..."

The ache was slowly progressing to a burn, and Severus felt what little hope that he had been tentatively nurturing for the last few years drain away within seconds. The Dark Lord had discovered his duplicity. There could be no other cause for his mark to react like that, and Severus knew that in about forty-right hours he would be dead, tortured into madness and then into oblivion. He knew what would happen- it was common knowledge to the Dark Lord's inner circle, and he himself had witnessed the Dark Lord's peculiar style of execution more than once; he had used it often enough in his glory days when a condemned Death Eater was hiding himself away thoroughly enough that he couldn't be brought before the Dark Lord to be physically tortured by the other Death Eaters.

It was a grisly progression, and Severus shuddered at the thought of undergoing it. Being a spy, he had long considered the possibility of his death, but usually in a vague and intellectual way, more out of a need to be "realistic" than to truly consider the fact that there was a time, generally and at all times in his life close at hand, that he would cease to breathe. It was an unnerving thought to have to consider. What ought he do when he had perhaps only a few more hours left of sanity, of consciousness?

He needed to see the headmaster, and to update his will, and then perhaps explain things to his little Slytherins, particularly Draco- if he was already exposed, it would do no further harm to him or the Light to break cover. And then he should perhaps apologize to Longbottom- he knew he shouldn't have been as hard as he was on the boy. Perhaps he should speak to Potter too- every nerve in his body twisted in revulsion at the thought of using his final hours to speak to Potter, but he grudgingly supposed that the boy should be told what a wonderful witch his mother was, and Severus was best qualified to do that. And he had to see those beautiful green eyes one last time...Merlin, he was growing maudlin. And perhaps he could convince the house elves to give him a blackberry tart, if he were conscious enough to eat it.

"Professor? Professor!"

Severus blinked through the haze to see one of his Hufflepuffs staring at him, looking almost...concerned?

"Are you all right?"

Severus wanted to snap "what does it look like, imbecile?" but he didn't have the energy. And besides, something in him that he was _not_ acknowledging felt warmed that a student cared that he was dying.

"I...no...get the headmaster..." he rasped, swaying slightly on his feet. When he closed his eyes, golden sparkles fixed behind his eyelids, making him still more dizzy.

"What's wrong- is there anything I can do?" She asked, as one of the Ravenclaws ran to fetch someone. Severus guessed from the gasps that the other students were speculating on whether or not she had a death wish, and the corners of his mouth turned ever so slightly upwards. Then he sobered. He didn't have much time, it seemed. Raising his wand, he summoned a glass jar, then extracted memories: the important information having to do with the Dark Lord and his followers, a few happy memories of Lily for Potter, a few personal messages for Albus. In an easy motion he capped the bottle, strength born of desperation keeping him from breaking down, even as the agony increased. He opened his eyes to see his students looking at him bewildered.

"Professor?"

Severus was silent for a long moment, using all his formidable occlumency skills to keep the throbbing pain from affecting him. Then he straightened. He would have liked to give this impromptu lecture to his Slytherins, but there was no guarantee that he would be able to, and if what he was about to say would save any lives at all...

"There is nothing, Miss Bouillon." Severus paused, as he tried to think of a way to phrase what he was going to say through the mist in his head. "Tell me," he said abruptly, "what do you know about Lord Voldemort?" At the name, his arm gave another angry twinge, but unlike usual, he was part caring.

As he had expected, his students gasped.

"Keep that in mind for what I am about to tell you. You are seventh years, soon to be graduating, and there are some of you who will be approached by His agents, for your skills, for your riches, for your family name. They will offer you what they think you want to hear- if you need a sponsor, that can be arranged. If you would prefer riches, the Dark Lord's men offer that too. If you agreed with his ideals, they will play in that. Do _not_ listen."

The students were staring at him, a ring of wide eyes and open mouths gathering around him.

"It is all lies. All of it. What good is a sponsorship, when He will expect you to use your skills to make spells and potions used for torture? What good is riches, if the price is slavery? What good is ideals, if Voldemort himself perverts them? For all his pureblood dogma, he's a mad halfblood who has convinced his followers to kill in the name of blood-purity. And to kill muggles- there are at least a thousand muggles to one wizard, and very few purebloods left in the Wizarding world. Without new blood the Wizarding World would die out entirely!" Severus paused with a hiss of pain, gripping his left arm tightly before going on: "Once you are marked, you are doomed. You are his, body and soul, forever. He can torture you through the mark. He can kill you through it as well, and it is not an easy death. As long as he lives, you are bound to him, and the last time he died, it didn't seem to stick."

Several of the students have hysterical giggles, even in the severity of the situation.

"It is harder to resist, but resistance is the only way. _Don't_ make my mistakes." His mark, at that moment, burst into excruciating pain, and he broke off with a strangled cry, the pressure on his arm no longer doing any good. The world spun around him...and then, as quickly as it had come on, the pain vanished. Severus blinked a few times, drawing a ragged breath. He had no time to speculate on this new development, however, for at that moment the headmaster and a Ravenclaw entered the defense classroom.

"My boy, are you alright?"

Severus blinked several times, wondering why his arm no longer felt like it had been selectively put under the _crucitus_. He assumed that after a few minutes of respite, the pain would return, but except for the manageable ache in his left forearm, a consequence of his tortured muscles, the agony seemed to have stopped entirely. "I...seem to be all right now, Headmaster," he said softly, massaging the place where his dark mark had been seared into his flesh. "I doubt the respite will last long, but it ought to give me time to get my affairs in order." He frowned. "I do wonder..." his voice trailed off.

"Wonder what?" Albus asked as the Ravenclaw prefect began to corral the staring seventh-years and lead them out.

"It isn't like him to play with his food like this. If he had discovered I'm a traitor, and I have no doubt that he did after feeling that, he would doubtless simply torture me into oblivion, non-stop, not give me false hope like this for the purpose of yanking it out from under my feet."

"Perhaps his strength failed," Albus suggested. "He is not at full power anyway, and trying to drain the magic out of a full-grown, powerful wizard as a wraith, even if he were doing it through a host, might prove too much for his feeble core at the moment."

"I...perhaps," Severus said, unconvinced.

"May I see it, Severus?"

Severus hesitantly pulled back his sleeve. At that moment, one of the cauldrons which had been abandoned on its burner, still filled with some sort of sludge, made an ominous glooping sound, and Severus ran to vanish it before it exploded. But not before he had seen his bare forearm.

Severus vanished the potion (and the cauldron, for good measure, since it was perilously close to melting entirely) and then automatically drenched the fire it had been sitting on, still numb and thoughts swirling. "It's gone!" he whispered at last, nearly in awe upon seeing pale, bare skin on his arm for the first time since he was sixteen, seeing for the first time that which they said was only ever a pipe dream. A way to break the curse upon him, a way to destroy Voldemort's- he could say it now- fatal thrall. He was free. Free! "The Dark Mark is gone!" he rasped.

Albus stared at him."That is impossible," he said, shaking his head. "There is no way-"

"Apparently there is." Severus was feeling as bold and cocky as a Gryffindor in his sudden reprise. "Or are you insinuating that it just went on vacation?"

"May I see?" asked Dumbledore cautiously.

Severus knew that Dumbledore would end up seeing anyway, so why prolong or extend the matter? It would be easier if he just showed him now, and spared himself the time, energy, and patience that would be expended if Dumbledore had to badger him every step of the way. Severus rolled back the sleeve of his robe without another word, letting Dumbledore scrutinize the unblemished arm. Dumbledore gasped, reaching out a shaking old finger to stroke the place the mark had been, and Severus instinctively jerked away from the touch.

Albus apologized, but still stared at Severus's arm. "What do you think triggered the removal?" he asked at last.

"No idea." Severus started to clean up his classroom, head still spinning. He was going to figure out what triggered it if it was the last thing he ever did...which it very well might be.

Meanwhile, floors above, "Lockhart" rose, swaying, heady magic swirling around him. He felt as though he had soaked in a shower and then lain down in the sun, letting it fill him with lazy warmth, felt as if he had slept for a week. What had happened? Where was he? And then it all came rushing back to him. The house elves, the Room of Hidden Things, the horcrux ritual- what had it done to him? He could tell that it was Light magic, but not what it could do, besides the fact that it could obviously cleanse horcruxes and dark magic.

Speaking of horcruxes... "Lockhart" looked around for the diadem, wondering how the ritual had neutralized the horcrux. Would it have destroyed the whole thing, or, as he suspected, have simply neutralized it? Provided it was still physically intact, would it still contain Ravenclaw's magic?

There! On the floor lay a silver coronet, decorated with sapphires and a single, shining, diamond-like jewel that he suspected was a dragon's tear. He approached it cautiously, moving close enough so that, if there were still any dark magic in it, he would feel it. He could not, actually, feel any black magic, but now that he was closer, he could feel a sort of dry, austere power flowing from it, tingling in the air.

He frowned. So it did have some magic left, and, while not seemingly harmful, it _was_ rather pushy. It was tugging at him; it wanted him to put it on. He didn't like those sort of compulsions, but he also had wanted to try on the diadem ever since, as a firstie, he had heard the Ravenclaw prefect telling some of the Ravenclaw firsties (and him, because they were all in the library and he, lonely, was listening in) about the famous magical crown. The thought of impossible knowledge...was thrilling. And it didn't feel like some of the actual dark compulsions, which would make you put something on and never take it off; it felt more like just assertive magic: magic that wanted to share knowledge, magic that wanted to be helpful and was a little bossy, like Lily when she was trying to get you to revise your Charms homework, or the Granger girl bossing Potter and Weasley around.

He drew Gilderoy's wand and cast a handful of detections, although he felt rather drained after casting, like his magic was a current running though a fraying wire.

The magic on Ravenclaw's diadem was mostly runic, focusing on the runes for memory, knowledge, protection, and wisdom, and, while there were charms of revenge keyed towards any who took the diadem from it's rightful owner, at this point there _was_ no rightful owner, and the charms were by now all faded to remnants of magic.

"Lockhart" hesitated, then picked it up carefully, only touching it with the tips of his fingers. It felt rather like McGonagall's magical signature, severe, powerful, and motherly. Safe. He frowned and cast another detection, just to make sure. It seemed safe. He really shouldn't be doing this, but it was the opportunity of a lifetime, to wear an artifact made by one of the founders. The old Severus Snape would never have been so utterly _Gryffindor_ (or Ravenclaw, he supposed). But then, the old Severus Snape was a bitter old spy who clung to his Slytherin-ness as though it were a mantle which could somehow cover all his flaws.

And so he, ever so cautiously, laid it on his head. The world spun. His vision whited out for the merest of seconds. And then, suddenly, magic rushed in. He felt an odd little twist in the back of his brain, and suddenly he could _see_. Could see the world in a dazzling, overarching perspective, could see all his flaws and all his best qualities, could see a thousand paths and a thousand questions...and a thousand answers to each question, in an overwhelming and perfect view. The lure of ultimate knowledge.

Was this how Rowena Ravenclaw had perceived the world? He sat there in a dream, letting himself soak in the magic, meditating, before at last taking it off- he knew that if he wore it for too much longer, he would never take it off or move again.

He walked shakily to the door, before pausing to pick up the diadem-he didn't exactly want to leave it here, where anyone could find it- and glamour it to look like a book, so that no one, (except perhaps Albus Dumbledore or the Lovegood girl) would know what he was really carrying. He probably should leave before a search party was sent out- wait, had he missed his afternoon class? He cast a _tempus_ and hissed in surprise. Splendid. He'd missed his afternoon class _and_ had almost missed dinner. Something told him that he would _not_ like Dumbledore's reaction.


	6. Chapter 6

Albus Dumbledore was not having the best of days. For one thing, there was the ongoing problem of Professor Lockhart, who, as if to make Dumbledore's suspicions still more prominent, had gone missing; he could not sense him in the wards at all! For another, Severus's Dark Mark had mysteriously disappeared after a small amount of torture, which shouldn't have been possible- and Dumbledore would know, having researched for years to find a way to remove the dangerous tattoo from his loyal spy and replace it with something that allowed him to answer Tom's summons without also endangering his life. He had also had to deal with Sybil having another sherry-fueled breakdown- Merlin knew, that woman made him tired sometimes. He couldn't believe that it was nearly suppertime.

"Professor Dumbledore!"

Albus whirled around, purple star-splashed robes swishing. "Yes, Miss..." Oh, Merlin, what was her name? "Clearwater. What can I help you with?"

"I...it may be better just to show you, sir," replied the visibly shaking girl.

Albus did not like the sound of this. However, what she showed him was much worse than anything he had imagined, and he had considered everything from one of Hagrid's creatures getting out of control to an all-out Death Eater attack.

On the wall opposite the prefects' bathroom, there hung, by the tail, Mrs. Norris, Argus's constant companion, yellow eyes glazed and motionless in the torchlight, throat cut. Beside her, to drive home the threat, three-foot high letters glistened redly, spelling out the words: "The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir beware." And below the message lay the slumped form of petrified first-year Gryffindor, Colin Creevey. Albus swallowed hard. How had he not seen this coming? How had he not felt it through the wards?

"Thank you Miss. Clearwater," he said shakily, wondering what to do next, and how to comfort the distraught caretaker. "I think it would be best if you gathered your house safely in the Ravenclaw common room and alerted your head of house and the other prefects. I will have to call a staff meeting."

She nodded and ran to do what he told her, and he shot off several patronuses to his staff, summoning them for an emergency staff meeting, and then summoned Madame Pomfrey to take young Mr. Creevy to the hospital wing. Then he left for the staff room at a run.

Within a few minutes, most of his staff were pouring in, and Albus sat soberly in his usual place, waiting for most of them to arrive. It didn't exactly surprise him that Lockhart was late, but it did make him angry. The man had disappeared for nearly the whole day with no warning and no reasons offered, despite the fact that, had he needed it, Albus would have _given_ him leave, he'd foisted his duties on others, and now the incompetent boy showed up late?! A chill ran down his spine. Late? What if...it didn't seem possible that he could be the heir, but then he _had_ changed since that very first interview. If Riddle had taken him over...Albus was shaken out of his dark thoughts by Minerva Mcgonagall, bless her heart.

"Albus? What's going on? Percy Weasley was trying to tell me something about an attack, but he couldn't elaborate."

"I can," Albus told her grimly, staring at everyone in the room, especially Lockhart. "There's been an attack, and Colin Creevy was petrified by unknown means. A threat, written on the wall, proclaims that the Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Argus Filch's cat was also killed."

Here Albus gave Lockhart a sharp scrutiny, looking for any scrap of recognition. He was not disappointed, but he _was_ surprised...

"No," Lockhart burst out, blue eyes going wide. He suddenly seemed no longer to see any of them. "It's too soon, she's too far gone- sweet Merlin, should have seen it coming, damn it, what did I do wrong-" he rose and began to pace, blond hair and lavender robes whipping in his wake. Agitated grey magic began to froth visibly around him as he paced, and Albus shuddered as he felt its throbbing power. The rest of the staff were staring at him in bewilderment and fear.

"Gilderoy," Albus began warningly.

Lockhart turned. "Headmaster," he began, but Albus had had enough of tolerating the man's quirks. Whatever he was hiding could potentially threaten the school, and, by extension, the students. And Albus couldn't allow that.

"Severus, your veritaserum," he snapped, and the sour young Potions Master handed him the serum at once. Lockhart froze.

"Albus, there's no time for interrogation," he said, staring at the two of them, and then the bottle in Severus's hand. "You can question me all you want after the basilisk is neutralized-"

"Basilisk?" Albus asked, stunned. Oh, he'd suspected, the last time the Chamber was opened, but no basilisk could live more than a few hundred years, and stasis spells didn't work well on animals; he'd assumed the creature was some sort of construct or experiment.

"Yes, the basilisk, what else would be in Salazar's Chamber, a bloody meerkat?" Lockhart bit out, eyes blazing. "The heir is not a student, rather it is a bit of parasitic dark magic, and the longer we deliberate, the more danger Miss Weasley is in from it. I'll explain how I know after its been destroyed!"

"It is a what?" Albus asked.

Lockhart whipped around. "A horcrux, I'll explain later," he said, and left the staff room at a run.

A horcrux! Albus was stunned into immobility for an instant, then he followed the DADA professor, accompanied by several other staff members. Lockhart ran through the halls as though he were possessed, until at last he drew up before the portrait that guarded the Gryffindor common room.

"Fortuna Bona," he snapped.

She blinked at him. "What?"

"The Staff Override. Let me in!"

"It's not the right one. Who are you?"

"It doesn't matter, let me in, one of the students is in danger," Lockhart told her. Albus, even in his worry, absently noted and was surprised at the command in the man's voice; he was not used to seeing the man being assertive. But now was not the time for idle observations.

"Cœur d' Léon," he said, coming to the professor's assistance. This was no time to try to hinder him.

"Thanks," Lockhart panted as the Fat Lady, with a sniff, opened the door to the Gryffindor common room. Students looked up in surprise as he barreled in, along with several other teachers.

"Professors?" began a startled Gryffindor prefect.

Lockhart stopped, still panting lightly. "Excuse me, we just need to talk to Miss. Ginevra Weasley for a second," he said summarily. One of the girls in the common room ran up the stairs and returned, shortly, a mess of red curls and tired grey circles under her eyes, half concealed by cosmetic glamors.

"Y-yes professors?"

"Calm down, Miss Weasley, you're not in trouble," Lockhart told her. "We just need you to help us clarify something for us. Have you seen a muggle diary that once belonged to a boy named 'Tom Riddle'?"

She paled, but said nothing but: "yes," in a very quiet voice.

"Bring it. We will not read it or anything; we just need to do a security check."

She hesitated, twisting her hands in her long school-issue robes before at last going to her dorm and returning with the diary. Before Albus could say a word, Lockhart took it from her carefully. He winced as soon as he picked it up.

"What is it? Why did you need my diary?" the girl asked.

"Because it's full of dark magic. Tell me, has anyone ever told you not to trust an artifact that thinks for itself?"

Weasley looked quite scared by now. She bit her lip, staring up at them with wide, chocolate brown eyes like a puppy. "Y-yes. Is it bad?"

Lockhart seemed to grow a little less harsh at witnessing her nervousness. "Yes, but you're all right now," he told her. "Just make sure not to use any other interactive artifact unless you know exactly what it is and does."

"Yes sir." She looked more tired and downcast then ever. "Wh-what would it have done to me?"

"It...I'm not entirely certain, but the fact remains that it is dark magic and likely had the capability of possessing you at some stage or another."

Miss Weasley blanched. "P-possessing me?"

"Yes," Lockhart replied quietly.

"Gilderoy, I don't think-" Minerva began.

"She has a right to know," Lockhart responded before she could finish. "There is no excuse good enough for glossing over a legitimate threat once a child is Hogwarts age; it leaves him or her less well prepared." He paused. "Miss Weasley, you will need to check in with Madame Pomfrey, just to make sure there is no dark residue, and your parents will have to be flooed, but rest assured you're not in any trouble." He blinked. "I think that's all for now, isn't it?"

"You tell us," snarked Severus Snape in response. "You're the one who seems to know everything all of a sudden."

Lockhart was frozen and silent for a long moment. "Oh, what the hell, I've already botched the timeline anyway," he muttered at last. " _Accio_ Ronald Weasley's rat." Dumbledore could only stare; what's this about the timeline? as the animal was summoned out of his owner's pocket.

A small, plump grey squeaking lump of fur flew into Lockhart's hand while Ronald protested.

"I apologize, Mr. Weasley, but I just have to check something," Lockhart told the Gryffindor. "You'll most likely get him back safe and sound tomorrow."

"But sir-"

"It'll be fine," said Lockhart firmly, turning to go. "Fifty points to Gryffindor for cooperation."

Several gasps, and Severus's sneering comment, followed the DADA teacher along with the rest of the staff, as they made their way back to the staff room.

As soon as they got back, Albus opened his mouth, about to speak the words and ask the questions that he had been biting back in front of the students and in the hallways.

"Gilderoy, I believe explanations are in order. And what do you mean to do with that poor rat?" he added, noticing for the first time how roughly Lockhart was holding Ron Weasley's pet. Lockhart smirked, looking almost Slytherin.

"I believe I will send it to Azkaban," he said, thoughtfully, raising it to eye-level by the tail. "Or perhaps give it to Lupin on a full moon. You'd like that, wouldn't you _Wormtail_?"

The rat squealed. Albus was just about to intervene when Lockhart unceremoniously dropped it and cast _an_ _imagus revelo_ , and all at once a miserable sniveling old man lay where the rat had been. It was...no, that was impossible!

"Peter Pettigrew," Minerva breathed as several of the other staff members gasped and Severus went the color of over-cooked porridge.

Lockhart's handsome features had meanwhile turned vicious. "Hello, Pettigrew. Fancy meeting _you_ again. Tell me, did you think you'd get away with it?"

"I-I-I don't know what you're talking about?" the animagus blubbered. Lockhart's lip curled.

"Being Secret Keeper doesn't ring any bells? How about betraying the Potters? Or taking the Mark?"

"I can explain!" he began desperately.

"So can I, it's not so much the explaining bit that's problematic. Your motives don't matter in the least."

"Bu-bu-"

"Just keep your mouth shut; we don't need to hear your sniveling," Lockhart said. "And don't think you're getting out of Azkaban for this. Albus might offer you a second chance, but I won't, and you'd best remember that."

"B-but-"

"But nothing." Lockhart stunned the man, walked to the staff room fireplace, and tossed a generous measure of floo powder into the orange flames. "Auror office, may I speak to the Head Auror?"

The young woman on the other side of the fire blinked at Lockhart, startled. "Ms. Bones!" she shouted over her shoulder as soon as she had shaken off her surprise. Then she poked her head back in the fire and said "hold on just a moment, the DMLE leader will be right with you."

Lockhart smiled charmingly and murmured a thank-you, and in a few minutes, the head of Amelia Bones was in the fire.

"Hello, what is your emergency?" she asked.

Albus started to speak, but before he could even get a sentence out, Lockhart had interrupted him and was talking over him.

"Ms. Bones, we have a piece of very vile soul magic which attempted to possess a student, a dark creature loose in the pipes, and an unrelated but important illegal animagus. Help would be greatly appreciated."

"Oh, my," Madame Bones ejaculated. "May I come through?"

"Please," Lockhart told her, as if he had the authority to do so. Albus was growing rather angry by this point, actually, and his suspicions were rising more and more. Who in Merlin's name was masquerading as Gilderoy Lockhart?

Shortly after, the witch did indeed come through, bringing a team of senior aurors and a squad from the Regulation and Control of Dark Creatures Department.

Lockhart greeted them politely as soon as they exited the fire, and Albus immediately did as well, growing rather frustrated with the man's automatic assumption of control. Still, it would only make him look weak if he reprimanded the man here and now; he would have to contrive to talk to him in private. At least it appeared that Lockhart knew what he was doing. Not that that made Albus any more comfortable; the man he had originally hired would have been far more likely to ask the aurors if they wanted his autograph.

"What, specifically, is the problem?" Amelia asked at once.

" _This_ ," Lockhart said, nudging Pettigrew with his boot, "is a Death Eater and illegal animagus who was masquerading as one of our Gryffindor's pets. I also believe, if he were to be questioned under veritaserum, that you would learn some very interesting things, things that might exonerate an innocent man that Crouch railroaded into Azkaban. This," he went on, slapping the diary of one Tom Marvolo Riddle down on Dumbledore's ornate desk, "is a horcrux."

Only Albus Dumbledore comprehended the meaning of that terrible statement, though Severus looked somewhat concerned; perhaps he had heard a little about horcruxes in the course of his studies about the dark arts.

The aurors, and Amelia Bones blinked. "A horcrux?"

"A fragment of Dark Lord Voldemort's soul," Lockhart said in disgust, "trapped in an object and layered with protective magic."

Amelia pressed a hand to her mouth, and several of her aurors blanched, while most of the Hogwarts staff looked distinctly sick as well. Poor Severus was gripping the edge of the table very hard, face as pale as cracked ice. Not that Albus could blame him in the slightest. He had had his suspicions, but to have them confirmed like this... "Can it be destroyed, do you know?" Amelia asked, jerking him out of his thoughts.

"Fiendfyre, the stomach acid of a dragon, basilisk venom, or a Czech ritual using unicorn tears are the only ways I know of, although a horcrux in a living creature can be destroyed by the killing curse. I believe that the dementor's kiss might also work, but I can't be sure." Lockhart responded at once.

"Right, ok." Amelia drew her wand. " _Expecto patronum_ ," she called, summoning her badger patronus, her voice barely shaking at all. Albus was actually quite impressed, especially considering his own reaction when he had first discovered the existence of horcruxes, much less Voldemort's. "We need a cursebreaking and decontamination team at Hogwarts at once, and the Unspeakables may be helpful." As soon as the patronus galloped away, she turned back to Lockhart. "What else did you say?"

"There's a two thousand year old basilisk loose in the pipes," Lockhart said calmly, as if he were only reminding her that the loo was clogged.

"A WHAT?!"

"Two thousand year old basilisk. It would be easiest to simply go to the Chamber of Secrets with an imperiused _rooster_ and then summon it, and kill it when it comes out."

"And how can we do that?" She said faintly, and then, "the Chamber of Secrets?"

She was not the only one who looked disbelieving; indeed, Albus himself was quite shocked, both at what Lockhart had said, and the blase manner in which he had said it.

"The entrance to the Chamber is in the abandoned lavatory on the third floor; the one haunted by the ghost of Myrtle Warren. The opening is a tap with a snake scratched in it, and while I could get you in, I cannot speak parseltongue well enough to summon the basilisk."

"Wait- we need a parselmouth to get in?"

"Well I suppose you could attempt to _imperius_ a snake, but it would be easier just to ask the headmaster or Mr. Potter to come with you, unless you would like to ask Lord Voldemort himself for help," Lockhart told her calmly.

"Mr. Potter?" Amelia asked, as Albus was still reeling that Lockhart evidently knew he had studied parseltongue with Gellert. That man would bear watching; he knew too much, and yet Albus knew next to nothing about _him_.

"Mr. Potter is a parseltongue, although I'm not entirely sure that he knows himself," Lockhart said. "As for the headmaster, he has likely studied it, among other things."

"I...very well, if Headmaster Dumbledore is willing, you lot are to go to take care of the basilisk," Amelia told the squad from the Regulation and Control of Dark Creatures Department. "Aurors, you four take Mr. Pettigrew to the holding cells of Azkaban, and put anti-animagus restraints and magic-locking cuffs on him, and you four come with me. I will, if the headmaster allows it, take this...artifact...and put it in Vault 40067 until it can be dealt with."

She couldn't take it- not with how dangerous it was. Not until Albus could come with her and make sure that it was safely taken care of. He cleared his throat. "Perhaps that is not the best idea. The horcrux is very dark magic, and-"

"Headmaster, she's no fool," Lockhart said, cutting him off. "And unless she decides to sit down and write in the diary or dispels the shields around the fiendish thing, it should be fine. You need to recognize that sometimes other wizards- or witches- can be trusted."

Albus was perilously close to losing his temper. How _dare_ the boy speak to him like that, as if he had the right? Had it been Minerva, or even Severus, he might have listened, but this was a boy who had until this school year been nothing more than a fraud of a travel writer, and was more focused on flamboyance than common sense. _"I_ need to recognize, Gilderoy?" he began, his voice reaching a rather more dangerous timbre.

Gilderoy did not look perturbed in the slightest. "Yes, Headmaster. You don't have to do everything by yourself, and she is trustworthy enough to ensure the horcrux gets destroyed."

Amelia Bones had by this point cast several more containment charms on the horcrux and picked it up gingerly, slipping it into a null-magic bag around her waist. Albus made an abortive movement to jerk it out of her grasp, worried, but stopped himself in a moment. Perhaps Lockhart was right, although that did not make him less angry with and uneasy about the young man.

The staff were still standing there, either in shock- which was rather understandable- or whispering to one another, or looking at the pompous DADA teacher in a new light, or- in the case of Severus, helping the aurors secure Pettigrew and get him through the fire with a look of fierce satisfaction. Albus took a moment to make sure that Pettigrew was secured accurately, and then whipped around and stared straight into Lockhart's eyes, probing him hard. He had to get to the bottom of this; had to figure out who this wizard really was, and if he could be trusted.

Lockhart staggered. "Headmaster, please," he hissed, eyes narrowing in pain. Albus could feel his formidable occlumency walls slam up, but he did not turn his head aside.

"Albus, you're hurting him!" Pomona Sprout burst out, but Albus did not move, could not move. He had to get to the bottom of this- his students were not safe until he knew who was posing as his DADA teacher.

"Who are you?!" he asked, growing frustrated. Lockhart's magic was rising, frothing around him, peaceful blues and lavenders mingling with stormy dark smoke and silver sparks swirling in a visible aura. And then the shields began to crumble under his onslaught; Albus had not been a trained Legilimens for a hundred years for no reason.

What he found in the young man's mind, however, was probably the one thing that he had not- could not- have expected.

Lockhart was not only an impostor, he was a time traveler.

Memories flew by, churning with emotions and power. Memories that should have been someone else's. Memories of the man's Hogwarts days, of taking the Mark at Tom's knee, of begging for the life of Lily Potter and her child... Memories of other things, too, of Harry Potter, covered in blood and dragging the blood-besmirched sword of Gryffindor, with Fawkes on his shoulder and Ginevra and Ronald Weasley beside him. Harry hissing to a snake during a dueling competition. Harry and his two Gryffindor friends in the Shrieking Shack with Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, and Remus Lupin. Harry trying to hold off a hundred dementors from himself and his godfather with a corporal patronus. The Goblet of Fire spitting out an extra name. Igor Karkaroff stripping his sleeve, showing a darkening mark with pain and horror in his eyes. Harry Potter dragging the body of Cedric Diggory back to the school, shaking, panting that Tom had resurrected himself. Dolores Umbridge, frustrating as always, blatantly denying the threat of Voldemort. Dolores asking for veritaserum to use for questioning students, and Severus giving her water. Meetings with the Order, and with the Dark Lord. A battle involving Death Eaters, Order members, and Hogwarts students in...was that the Department of Mysteries?...and Sirius Black falling through the veil of death. An unbreakable vow. Severus, trying desperately to cure a curse on his hand. Himself, telling Severus that the only way would be for him to euthanize him with the killing curse, which would serve the double function of raising the boy's standing with the Death Eaters and giving him a painless death. Severus breaking down. Slughorn coming back. Ron Weasley poisoned. More Death Eater meetings. His own death. Severus as headmaster of Hogwarts. The Carrows as teachers. Severus sending his patronus after Harry and his two friends as a guide to the sword of Gryffindor. Fighting at Hogwarts, students and teachers falling, so many dead... Potter dead. Bill Weasley, claiming that he wished to join the Death Eaters before Voldemort himself. Bill and Severus conducting a ritual. Some memories from earlier in the school year. And then...the diadem of Ravenclaw?!

"Had enough, Albus?" Lockhart panted, trying to hold himself upright using the back of Filius's chair. "Is...that...enough...to...convince...you?"

"Severus?" he whispered in disbelief, without responding to his comment.


	7. Chapter 7

Oh, _splendid_. "Lockhart" rubbed his aching temples, trying desperately to catch his breath, while around him, the staff was staring, still confused and nervous. His younger self had a rather odd look on his face, too, not that that wasn't to be expected, and "Lockhart" hoped that he wasn't figuring it out. What exactly could he say to that? Merlin, this was _not_ going to end well.

"My dear boy," Dumbledore went on, still shaken. "Lockhart" knew that he probably was not going to like what the older man said next. "My dear boy, I apologize that I had to subject you to that, even if necessary."

Interesting. In the old timeline, "Lockhart" was sure, Albus wouldn't have bothered with apologies. But then, he supposed, all of them had been far more hardened by another six years of war in that timeline, too. Or perhaps the apology was part of a more elaborate manipulation; "Lockhart" wouldn't put it past the old man. "It...I will live. I understand that it was necessary."

Albus nodded, still looking shaken and even a little contrite. He opened his mouth, probably to say something..., but before he could do so, another voice interrupted him.

"Would you mind explaining just _what_ is going on here?" It seemed that Minerva Mcgonagall, finally fed-up with watching Albus and "Lockhart" butting heads, was on the warpath, demanding explanations. Just wonderful. He was not going to get out of the staff room alive at this rate.

"Not at the moment, my dear," Dumbledore responded, his calm slowly returning, trickling back bit by bit, to be replaced by the calculating look that he so often wore and that "Lockhart" hated rather a lot, especially considering that it usually did not mean anything good for him. "I am afraid that Gilderoy and I must have a...talk first, before I am able to decide what is safe to tell you."

"Lockhart"'s crystal blue eyes narrowed. "I don't think-"

Albus's gaze hardened, just a little. "You are on thin ice, my boy. I must say I am very disappointed by the course of action that you took, even if you had a worthy goal."

"Lockhart" was nearly speechless with fury, insides roiling, but he managed a surprisingly calm: "I am not your boy, Headmaster, and your disappointment is no longer such a blow as it might once have been. I understand what I did, and I stand by it."

Dumbledore still had the face that "Lockhart" had once referred to in his private notes as his "Disappointed Grandfather No. 17" look, but it no longer fazed the younger man as it had in years past. He had lived through worse than the old man's disappointment in him. "You must understand, my boy, no matter your intentions, that you have done a very foolish thing and are endangering all of us. I am sorry, but I just cannot permit this to continue. Obliv-"

The Headmaster did not have a chance to finish his sentence as the DADA teacher of two timelines cast 'expelliarmus', and the Elder Wand flew from his hands, twisting through the air to land in "Lockhart"'s own. And the DADA teacher gasped as magic literally bled from him, thrumming, crackling through his body at the sudden conduit of power open to him, and the wand claimed him with a sizzling shower of green and gold, forming for the merest of instants the shape of a phoenix gripping a lightning bolt in its talons, grappling with a basilisk, and the lightning bolt turned into a crowned snake which bit the basilisk in the throat. Then the sparks died away into nothingness, like fireflies winking out with the first rays of the sun.

Albus was staring at him, pale as ash, and most of the other professors were frozen, too. Minerva looked angry, though whether at "Lockhart" or at Albus was unclear, and Trelawny seemed to have slipped into a catatonic state. "W-what have you done?" The old man whispered, still staring at him and then at the wand. "You'll tear time to shreds! How could you be such an utter fool?!"

"Lockhart" looked up at him, still running his fingers over the polished, bone-white wood, awed by the powerful, legendary wand and by the sudden thrill of being able to truly cast again. That and angry. How _dare_ Albus! "What would you have had me done then?" he asked sardonically. "Just sit there, gazing at my navel and taking detailed notes? Or perhaps playing the loyal Death Muncher for the rest of my life, or throwing said life away to try to save the last few students alive? The war was over. We'd lost. You'd been killed the previous year; well, it was assisted suicide, but same difference. Your precious Golden boy was dead in a pool of his own blood, the Statute of Secrecy was utterly shot, muggles were attacking us with military artillery, and Tom _Bloody_ Riddle was twirling the Elder Wand in between watching the last few muggleborns being set on fire for his own amusement. Oh, yes, and there was a horde of soulsucking monsters wandering around, breeding so much that the air was as thick as pea soup, and there was no one left alive strong enough to cast a patronus but myself and Bill Weasley. Did I miss anything? Why yes, something about Hogwarts being converted into a school of the Dark Arts with the Carrows as deputy headmasters." His blazing gaze went feral. "I know _perfectly_ well what I risked, what _we_ risked, and I still did it, because I was witnessing the end of the magical world as we know it. So don't you _dare_ call me a fool! Especially since the situation was your fault in the first place!" He had not ranted like that for many years, not since he learned that venting earns you nothing but a broken heart and possibly broken ribs, and that nothing, nothing could ever fix his mistakes. But it had felt so damn good! And, additionally he was then treated to the amazing, intoxicating sight of Albus Dumbledore, for the first time that "Lockhart" had ever known him, totally and entirely speechless, along with the entire Hogwarts staff.

"Severus-"

"Do _not_ call me that." "Lockhart's was still turning the Elder Wand over and over in his hands and staring the Hogwarts staff down, magic glimmering in the air around him. "For one, you are only confusing everyone, and for another, you do _not_ have permission to use my first name."

The old man's mouth opened and shut like a grindylow trapped in a jar. "H-how? What did I do? Why are you so angry with me, my boy?" he asked at last, voice uncharacteristically subdued and defeated.

"Oh, my, where do I start?" "Lockhart" hissed. "I suppose it's too late to suggest leaving Tommy boy in the orphanage." A pause. "I would say keeping information so close to your chest that it gets tangled in your beard, though, that _did_ cost the lives of nearly everyone on the side of the Light. Maybe it was taking the coward's way out and forcing me under vows to euthanize you, although I suppose I could absolve you of that since it hasn't happened yet, and _won't_ if I have any say. Could have been the fact that you hired Quirrelmort, a fraud, a werewolf, a polyjuiced Death Muncher, and a sadistic bitch who tortured her students with a blood quill in detention as DADA teachers. Could have been the fact that you never bothered to tell me you left Potter with that abusive bint Petunia."

Snape gave a sharp gasp, and Minerva stiffened, a little self-righteous fury mingling with the fear and confusion in her face. Minerva, always the champion of her golden lions.

"Oh, and keeping the prophecy from Potter until his precious dogfather had already been thrown through the veil was masterfully done. As was expecting three underage children to be able to destroy all of Voldemort's horcruxes while being listed as Undesirables No. 1, 2, and 3 by a corrupt Ministry and with no outside help. Also a little bitter about the fact that you blithely told me that Potter was a goddamned horcrux himself and then to pass the bacon," he added sarcastically, sliding the Elder Wand into the sheath normally reserved for the waste of space that was Lockhart's pretty stick.

Dumbledore swayed and had to sit down. The staff still had not otherwise moved, and Minerva's mouth was still hanging vaguely open.

"To be fair, most of that hasn't happened yet," "Lockhart" said at last, easing up at the horror and despair on the old man's face. He had, once upon a time, been a mentor and a father figure to him, before all of it went down the tubes. He heaved a long sigh. "And I understand why you did everything. I...I forgive you, and I apologize for my outburst, but...it's not easy to come back from that."

It was at that moment that Filius Flitwick, always the logical one, finally found his tongue. "Wait. Let me get this straight, Gilderoy. You're Severus, form a future that no longer exists in which Harry died and You-Know-Who won the war, is that correct?"

"Lockhart" huffed a long sigh. "Yes."

It was at that moment that Trelawney began to scream predictions of doom (just hysterics this time, not actually true Sight) his younger self actually fainted, and Aurora and Septima pulled their wands out, pointing them directly at him. Bathsheba pulled out a bottle of veritaserum (she had been a Slytherin, after all) looking as though she would have quite liked to pour it forcibly down his throat. "Lockhart" hesitated- he was _way_ too tired and headachy for this mess, and he had _definitely_ reached his quota of both Gryffindor behavior and general stupidity, and especially of both of them _together_ \- and then froze all of them as he had his unruly classroom, with just one silent sweep of the Elder Wand. This was likely going to take a while, and it was likely going to be a mess, and he definitely blamed Dumbledore, and all of them were just _so loud_!

"Right. Ok. Let's take turns, shall we?" he swiped his wand to deluge his younger self (and the still prophesying, though mute Trelawny) with a well-cast aguamenti charm. "Minerva, I assume you have questions?"

**Author's Note:**

> I will be using the names "Lockhart" and Snape when writing a chapter with both versions of Sevvy.


End file.
